


Those Who Guide You Through the Dark

by Drag0nst0rm



Series: All According to Plan [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-20 11:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17021622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drag0nst0rm/pseuds/Drag0nst0rm
Summary: Recovering from what Morgoth did to him isn't easy.(Celegorm's point of view from "What You Thought You Wanted.")





	Those Who Guide You Through the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own the Silmarillion.

The gag is barbed. It cuts into his mouth, and the thick blood provides only the illusion of relief to his parched throat.

Despite this, Celegorm almost wants to laugh at the fact that their precaution after his last escape attempt was to choose any sort of gag at all. The gag is painful and inconvenient, but as a precaution it is utterly useless, because they have left plenty of slack in the chains that bind his arms to the wall, and they haven’t chained his legs at all.

He hears scratching in the walls, and behind the gag, he smiles.

He can’t speak Quenya with a gag on, nor Sindarin, nor the strange orcish tongue that he is beginning to pick up.

But he can hum and chirp and shift his body, and so as far as his ability to communicate with anything not on two legs goes, he’s doing just fine.

 

Sauron is, against his will, a bit impressed. It is hard not to be when he considers just how far Feanor’s son managed to get.

He is also somewhat impressed with just how fast a sea of rats can strip an Orc to the bone. Possibly there is potential here that has previously been overlooked.

But impressed or not, this cannot be allowed to continue. If the gag was not sufficient, he will put other measures in place.

Everyone breaks. All Sauron needs is enough time.

 

Celegorm hasn’t felt the slightest urge to smile for … He isn’t sure how long now. It’s hard to keep track of time in the endless, confining dark that surrounds him. He can’t even move enough to bang his hand against the wall and count the beats. All that he has is the count in his own head, and he is no longer entirely trusting of that.

Thoughts blur and twist in the timeless dark, and who knows how long he’s been here? Who knows how long he’s struggled to move, struggled even to breathe, struggled to convince himself that someday he would get out -

There’s light.

He shuts his eyes against the burn and reminds himself that it’s a trick of his mind. There is no light.

The imaginary light has never burned him before.

But then there are voices saying his name, saying other things in a rapid stream of Quenya, which means that this is the other trick, the dream, because his father cannot possibly be here, sawing through his chains as if they were string, wrapping him in the warmth of his protective fury. Maglor cannot possibly be here, voice calling him to strength and healing. Huan cannot be here -

Huan nudges against his shoulder to help him sit up and whines, and he had never dreamed this. He had never gotten this far.

The gag is released, and he tries to say something, but his swollen, bloodied mouth that had once twisted around the language of every beast on earth just manages an inarticulate cry.

Huan whines again, and Maglor’s voice increases in speed, promising comfort and warmth and everything he’s longed for. He relaxes a bit. As much as he dares.

“Almost done,” his father promises, and his voice promises other things too, like a wrath that will never be satisfied that Celegorm will be protected behind.

It is almost enough for him to believe. Almost … almost enough, and almost will have to be good enough.

“You’ll be safe now. We’ll get you out.”

Maglor’s song hesitates, and it takes Celegorm a moment to realize who had spoken, because he hasn’t heard that voice since Aman.

But Huan has spoken, given up one of his three chances, and Celegorm lets himself fall back onto him, lets the last of his protective skepticism go, because he’s safe now. He can believe.

 

Even back at the rapidly growing fortress, the dreams haunt him. His brothers and father take turns staying with him, and their presence soothes him, but he hates to keep asking them to do it. He should be stronger than this. He should have recovered by now.

He tells them he has, and he tries to brazen past the skeptical looks most of them keep sending him, especially as the shadows darken beneath his eyes.

Huan doesn’t sleep. Celegorm isn’t sure where he goes at nights, but he suspects it’s to patrol the fortress or to hunt as the mood takes him.

Tonight, he follows Celegorm into his room and leaps up onto the side of the bed closest to the door and refuses to move.

“If you were a normal dog, I’d tell you to get off of there,” Celegorm tells him bemusedly.

Huan, unsurprisingly, doesn’t move. Huan never goes anywhere he doesn’t care to, and there’s still room on the bed, so Celegorm shrugs and curls up on the other side.

With Huan’s warmth between him and whatever might come through the door, he sleeps dreamlessly till morning.

 

When he loses a brother, it doesn’t matter how close Huan stays. The dreams come back.

 

He doesn’t go out to meet the eagles. He’s almost afraid of what he’ll do if he does, because Fingolfin’s forces have been judged by Manwe as worthy of rescue, apparently, and he was not.

He has two older brothers and a father to handle the diplomacy. He can stay here and make more arrows. They’ll need them eventually. They always need more weapons.

Huan growls a soft warning. It’s a gentle one, just meant to make sure Celegorm knows that someone is approaching. Celegorm scratches Huan’s head in thanks and looks up.

It’s Aredhel. There’s dark orcish blood still staining her dress, fur he’s never seen the likes of before lining her cloak, and Idril on her hip, but that’s definitely Aredhel.

She’s eying Huan warily, but Huan’s calmed back down to friendliness now that he’s sensed Celegorm’s own relief beside him.

Aredhel made it. He hadn’t realized just how much he had repressed that fear until it was relieved.

He’s not really sure what he’s supposed to say with all that’s come between them. What comes out is, “You look hungry.”

Aredhel looks fully prepared to start shouting at him, but Idril perks up and actually looks fully present for the first time, and that stops Aredhel just long enough for her to get a good look at Celegorm.

He’s not sure what she sees, but it stops her from shouting. He appreciates that.

“It was a long walk,” is all she says.

He gestures for her to sit and pushes his own lunch towards them. “Have at it. I already ate.”

Huan’s warning growl suggests that Celegorm will not actually be able to get away with calling half a slice of bread a meal, but Celegorm elects to ignore this. He’s not hungry and hasn’t been in a long time, and the opposite is clearly true of the two relatives before him. He can wait.

Huan sighs.

 

Maedhros doesn’t come back. Father doesn’t come back. Aredhel comes back for only a short time before her spirit flies west.

Celegorm rides on hunt after hunt and teaches Lomion how to hunt with him.

Sometimes in the thrill of the chase, he can almost forget.

The cold. The dark. Unable to speak. Unable to move.

Morgoth is winning, and someday he will come and take Celegorm back, and this time there will be no one to come, and he’ll be locked away forever -

Celegorm rides hard and fast for freedom till then and tries to make sure that Lomion will know the feeling too.

Soon he will be caught in Mandos’s Halls or Morgoth’s, and either way there will be no wind in his face and nowhere to run, but until then, he spends his days moving and his nights clinging to Huan.

 

He expects Mandos’s Halls to be cold and dark. He’s braced himself for it as best he can.

Instead, his first sensation is one of warmth - the immense protective heat of his father’s fire wrapped all around him, with his brothers’ arms not far behind.

It isn’t life, isn’t quite freedom, isn’t everyone together as they should be, but for the first time in many long years, he isn’t afraid, and for right now, that’s enough.


End file.
